Somnium
by Knight of Infinity
Summary: Amidst the ruins of Academy City, Misaka Mikoto makes her final stand in front of the Darkness, armed with naught but the memory of a Forgotten Dream.


**AN: I'll be the first to apologize for my lack of updating over the past few months. My life has been somewhat...tumultuous, to say the least. And I'm also so ridiculously busy that I really cannot even write that much, nor do I have the inspiration to.**

 **The next chapter of Steel Savior is about 60% complete, but I promise that I will work on it and update by October. I promise.**

 **This work was written for, as some of you on this fandom may have seen on other fics, the r/onetruebiribiri fanfiction contest on reddit. I'll let you guys know in an update on this fic who won by next week, if you wish to know.**

 **Or you could just go check out the subreddit in a week. Either way, you'll get to know. In the mean time, go check out other submissions.**

* * *

 _"Great dreams of great dreamers are always transcended."_

 _-Abdul Kalam_

 **SOMNIUM**

She didn't feel the pain at first.

No.

She certainly felt the impact as the monster's claw massive claws smashed into her electromagnetic barrier with ungodly force. She certainly felt her head snap backwards and the crack of her neck as she was tossed unseemingly into the air. She certainly felt the rush of wind about her limp body, whipping across her skin, as she flew through the air as if she were a ragdoll. She certainly felt the sensation of her skin ripping violently off as she skid fifty feet across the broken asphalt.

But she didn't feel the pain until she finally came to a full stop, laying there in the the pile of burnt ash and rubble, bleeding out of the multitude of wounds that covered her body, when she finally had time to think.

Everything about this fight was pushing to her limit and beyond, yet the Darkness that she faced showed not even the smallest sign of yielding.

It was frustrating beyond belief, and she couldn't help but wonder if the monster that she faced even had any openings in its guard, nevermind weaknesses she could actively exploit.

A sudden blur of motion in the corner of her eye shook her out of her brief reverie.

Grimly, she forced her burning muscles taut, propelling her body out of the way just as barbs of Darkness smashed ruthlessly into the ground where she had lain merely a second before.

She had long lost track of how long she had been fighting. Mindless faces of endless devils and demon had flashed in and out of her vision, a neverending stream of nightmares, even as she eviscerated them in droves with massive crackles of lightning.

The horde of Dark had seemed limitless, yet despite their vast superiority in numbers, she beat them back with the desperate ferocity of a cornered wolf, holding them off before the very gates of their final stronghold.

And for a time, fighting with such fierce desperation worked. The massive invading horde was thinned by the powerful blasts of electricity that tore through their ranks and whirlwinds of razor-sharp iron blades that dismembered their tortured limbs, torn apart by the aerial bombardment of metal shrapnel and storm of thin wires that sliced through them as if they were butter.

For a moment, it seemed as if all was not lost. For a moment, it seemed as if the demon horde could be turned back. For a moment, it seemed as if they had not sacrificed all for naught.

For a moment she had allowed herself to hope...

...Until she ran into it.

She didn't know what it was. It was something so formless, so abstract, that one could think it to be more of an idea rather than a physical form.

All that she knew was that it reeked of pure and utter malevolence, as if it were a manifestation of All the World's Evils itself.

Accelerator was already dead. She could still hear his final, defiant cackles in the face of some unspeakable horror over the radio before it was silenced by the sickening crunch of bone and flesh, and the crackling discord of static.

Not long after, Sogiita Gunha followed. His battle cry, heard across the entire city, was silenced abruptly by a mighty clang, and the triumphant, inhuman roar that followed told her all that she needed to know about the other boy's fate.

As for the rest of the Level Fives…

She grimaced. She had no idea of their respective fates. With any luck, they were still alive and kicking, and were moving in to assist her at any moment.

But that was merely childish, wishful thinking. She knew better than that.

Signs of other resistance other than hers had long since died out.

Another blur of motion suddenly flashed by, and, desperately, she threw herself to the right.

She wasn't fast enough.

The massive claws caught her unawares, and, without her protective electromagnetic barrier, they easily ripped through her vulnerable torso with unimaginable force, caving in her chest and sending her through the concrete walls of a nearby building and into the shrapnel-ridden road that lay on the other side.

Blood covered her vision, and, vaguely, she felt the sharp pain of a broken bone. A tired glance at the dull monolith of ivory that rose from the plains of her broken skin was all she needed to diagnose her condition.

It was then, and only then…

She realized she was going to die.

The crushing blow delivered to her had ruptured most of her major organs, and already, she could feel them beginning to fail. Each breath in was ragged and painful, her punctured lungs struggling to supply oxygen to her deprived body. Every breath out was accompanied by coughs of blood as the crimson elixir found itself trickling into her airway. Every beat of her heart grew more and more hesitant, as if it did not wish to continue its life-giving rhythm to its dying host.

As she lay on the ground, the cracked rubble beneath her digging painfully into her back, all she could do was wait for death, thoughts running through her head and escaping as if they were merely ephemeral feathers blown away in the face of the mighty gale of a hurricane.

Perhaps she would be remembered.

She hoped she would. After all, she had given everything - first her friends, then her family, and finally her own life - for the city that she loved.

But no matter.

Once she was gone, the last line of defense that stood between the forces of Darkness and the final legions of the desperate ESPer-Church alliance, forged back when he was still alive, would crumble.

She still remembered how hard he had worked, how he angrily he had screamed during the meetings between the Board of Directors and the Vatican, how he had pleaded with Laura Stewart, how he had spent sleepless nights writing and rewriting his arguments to the point of flawlessness.

It was only because of him the Earth had even lasted this long. Seven years, four months, and twenty one days after the initial invasion, to be exact.

But in the end, it still wasn't enough.

The enemy was still too strong for them to match.

The smoke and fires that consumed the city block about her flooded her vision, and, gradually, she could feel her body's functions slowly begin to fail. Her heart-rate plunged, her breathing shallowed, and, slowly, she felt her vision begin to tunnel.

But despite it all, she remained calm and cool, as if she were apathetic to the shutting down, the death, of her very own body.

Ah.

Was she at peace now? At peace with her death? At peace with the destruction of everything she knew?

Oh, everything was so cathartic now. None of this mattered anymore.

They were doomed, and, even at the end of all things, the end of all the things she had loved and cared for so much, the end of the world from which she was born and belonged, she couldn't bring herself to care anymore.

The monstrosity's mighty roar of triumph was strangely muted as she knelt on the ground, her crimson blood seeping from her eyes and the stench of burning flesh and melted steel stinging her sinuses.

She was tired.

So very tired.

As she stared at the blurred grey beneath her, she could only imagine what the visage would seem to be from an outsider.

The lonely figure kneeling in subservient defeat in front of the victorious conquerer. The broken form of the world's last hope, surrendering to the encompassing Darkness that enveloped the world.

Her conjured image sparked a vague memory.

This happened all too well before, hadn't it?

A brief memory of a boy flashed in her mind, and despite the overwhelming exhaustion that clouded her senses, despite the sting of the singes upon her burnt skin, despite the stabbing pain in her side as metal shrapnel embedded itself into her body, she felt same hurt and sorrow, as fresh as it had been five years ago, arise once more.

Oh, why now of all times?

She thought she had gotten over him for a long time now. It had been years since she'd last shed a tear over him, since she had consciously and unfalteringly mourned him.

A bitter, cynical laugh burst out of her mouth, but, despite her best efforts, she could not prevent that single teardrop escape from the corner of her eye.

Angrily, she wiped the wetness from her face.

What good was it now, feeling sorry for herself?

The sickening, disgusting, filthy self-pity.

How pathetic had she become over the past years?

...

Ah.

She knew what'd he say, as usual.

To keep on believing in that fucking dream.

Damn him.

He was always so damn chivalrous and optimistic, so much so that sometimes it was more of an annoyance than an endearing trait. So willing to believe in his own false dream that he was truly blind to the fallacies that lay within.

...

But, then again, it was that very quality that made her fall in love with him.

How pathetically sentimental.

It was such a uselessly maudlin thing. It wasn't practical. It would never work, would never succeed against the forces of the real world.

But, despite it all, damn everything, it was still beautiful.

And, as he would say, that was what made it worth believing in.

Back when he was still there, she would laugh in his face, as if he were a lunatic. Any other sane person would.

But now she realized that - even back then - secretly, subconsciously, and subliminally, she admired him.

It was a natural instinct to. Was there not a degree of romanticism to that lonely hero facing that invincible dragon with naught but a blunted sword and singed armor? No sense of longing and pride in the infinite resignation he had placed upon himself? No emotive response to his endless striving for the impossible?

A sudden epiphany struck her, and she realized that, after all this time, she had always wanted to become that very person that she had admired so much.

In her childhood, her father had often read fairy tales of mighty knights, brave and bold, who never failed to slay the mighty dragon in a single stroke and carry the beautiful princess off in the sunset.

But as dreamish and desirable as they were to her young mind, she always felt…

Unfulfilled? Unsatisfied? Longing?

It wasn't until she was older when her father finally told her the story of the other knight.

This knight was no handsome man in shiny steel armor and a sword of brilliant light. The knight was no demigod that stood up to the evils of the age and slaughtered them with ease. The knight was no perfect mortal who stood with the monument of his legacy untarnished and untouchable.

No.

This knight stood, exhausted, in a suit of rusted, half-melted armor. His sword was cracked, battered and dulled, from bashing futilely against the dragon's iron scales. His shield was merely a formless clump of ruined metal. Sweat poured down his body. Blood coated his skin.

Yet, despite it all, despite the tiredness that seeped into his bones, despite the pain the wracked his body, this knight fought on, knowing the inevitability of his fate, yet still standing in defiance against the dragon in the hope of that minute chance of victory.

One was conjured within the minds of inspired men. The other was birthed into the harsh world.

One was revered for his heroics, his name passed down from generation to generation. The other was forgotten by the very people he had saved.

One was aloft in dreams. The other was grounded in reality.

For all her life, she had always aspired to be the second, yet there was always something that held her back.

Apathy. Laziness. Self-satisfaction. Indulgence. Sloth.

She had always worked exceptionally hard, she knew. It was only out of pure determination that she had risen to the Level she had. But when she had finally attained her purely selfish goal of power, and looked to her selfless one...

Tomorrow, she had told herself then. Later, she said. Just a few hours more until she forced herself to change.

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned into months, and months turned into years, and her procrastination never ended.

And, it was, ironically, here, now, at the place and time where the world would end, that she, after so many years, was finally forced to face her decision.

To be, or not to be.

To evolve, or to stagnate.

To attain metaphorical apotheosis, or to remain embroiled in her own perverse humanity.

Faith was stupid, she realized a long time ago. But the unshakeable decision to stand a fight to the death for the sake of something far greater than an individual, despite knowing and understanding the insurmountable obstacles that faced them...

Was there anything wrong in believing that fallacy? Could no good come from aspiring to fight for that small chance of victory in the face of the Wheel of Fate? Was there a problem in fighting for that dream, despite knowing its impossibility?

Believe…

The rational side of her wanted to crush it. To believe in that chance, in the darkest of times, was nothing but the height of arrogant optimism and self-satisfied stupidity.

Believe…

Nothing but a maudlin truism for the weak.

Believe…

Nothing but a childish wish made in the face of harsh reality.

Believe.

Nothing but a…a...

Believe.

Nothing...

Believe.

Believe.

 **BELIEVE.**

A cry of anger, of frustration, of pain erupted from from her mouth as she viciously combated her own self within the battlefield of her own mind.

She wanted to give in so badly. It would be so easy to, to simply lie here, soaked in a pool of her own blood, and pass on under the comfort and soporific blanket of the heavy exhaustion that clouded her mind. It would be so much easier to stop trying. It would be so much easier to give up.

But she couldn't.

She wasn't done yet.

No. Not yet.

She had to believe, she had to try.

If not for the world's sake, then for humankind. If not for humankind, then for her friends. If not for her friends, then for her family. If not for her family...

If only for his sake.

After all, here, at the end of all things, it wasn't as if she had anything else to lose.

Just…

just...

Just this once, she promised herself. Just this one time.

Just one more time.

And then she would let herself rest in the sweet embrace of forever.

Wearily, she prepared her dying body once more.

The deep breath she took in was not unfettered by the punctures in her lung, the sharp exhale out accompanied by hacking coughs of blood.

But despite the pain she paid it no mind.

She ignored the pain as her closed eyes snapped open, trickling tiny streams of blood down her cheeks. She ignored the pain as she forced her blurred vision crystal clear, at the cost of searing agony in her eyes. She ignored the pain as her muscles grew taut once more, their broken tissues stretching once more.

Bones creaked and cracked as a tired figure forced herself on her knees, straightening her back in defiance.

One final time.

She was a Level 5. She was the Electromaster. She was Tokiwadai's Ace.

She was the Railgun, and she would end this on her terms. Not anyone else's.

Her shaking hand rose to the frayed string around her neck- weakened by the hours she spent fumbling and playing with it - her trembling fingers grasping something so rudimentary, something so useless and cheap, that it would've made anyone else laugh in disbelief.

She flipped the old, rusted arcade coin around her fingers, reminiscing of better times.

Many had asked why she had kept the ugly thing around for so long, rather than a necklace of new-fangled titanium discs that were specially designed to be launched by her abilities. After all, they argued, it would be far more convenient in the case of an ambush or some other sort of surprise attack. Not to mention the discs' far superior aesthetic value over the ugly trinket that she wore.

Her response was usually a tight smile, which was more than enough to scare most the inquisitive persons who dared asked. Those who pushed further were often "persuaded" otherwise in the makeshift sparring ring a few minutes later. The few that were left that knew her well enough understood she kept it out of some sort of sentimental value.

But those who could recognize and truly appreciate the sentimental value behind it were all long dead.

Truth be told, she had gotten the token a long time ago, back when the world was a much happier and brighter place. The War had just ended, and the world thought that mankind could achieve everything they put their minds to, with magicians and espers co-existing in relative peace.

They were in that particular arcade at the Underground, she recalled. Uiharu was wearing an even more ridiculous flower arrangement than usual, so top heavy that the shorter girl's head often would often twist unpredictably to one side or the other. Saten was, not unexpectedly, flipping skirts and pranking everyone in the general vicinity, so often that they were almost kicked out numerous times if it hadn't been for her flourishing, oftentimes embarrassingly so, apologies. Kuroko was throwing usual histrionics, with her over the top flirtations and her down-in-the-dumps sulking whenever she found herself annoyed enough to tell the teleporter off.

And then there was _him,_ of course. Smiling with that damnably genuine smile, as usual, for once not lamenting his misfortune in one way or another.

That is, if you discounted the almost ridiculous amount of times the idiot had managed to slip on something, or spill something, or smash his head into something, etc.

But he had long since accepted that as normal, so to both him and her, such things were nothing in the face of what they had been blessed with, especially in that magical moment.

It was perhaps the most joyful night that she remembered. Sodapop flowed freely as if it were wine from an opulent Roman feast. Endless waves of good food were stuffed within their stomachs. Talk and laughter suffused the already cheerful environment with even greater exuberance.

It was a good night.

But, as with all good things, it eventually had to come to an end.

As the night grew old, dusk turning into dawn, as the drinks ran dry and the the food turned into crumbs, as widened, awake eyes grew heavy with fatigue, happiness and laughter dwindled as well, until there was nothing left but a single unused arcade coin.

She still remembered how his warm hand had curled over hers when she attempted to stuff the last coin into the Gekota claw machine, enclasping it within her fingers and palms, how his soft voice told her to save it, as an investment of happiness for the next time, as a promise to celebrate joyfully much the same as they had yet another time.

Her teeth clasped tightly against her bottom lip in attempt to stave away the tears that threatened to escape from the corner of her eyes.

Liar.

With a single motion, she snapped the coin off the ragged string upon which it was held, letting the thin thread fall to the ground, where it was promptly crushed beneath the heel of her ragged shoes.

The monstrosity stopped its slow, leisurely advance, staring at her shaking, yet strangely stoic form as if it were confused, perplexed at the existence of the tiny organism faced it.

Then it laughed. A slow, long bark of amusement, as if it were patronizingly complimenting her determination and will, or as if it were mocking the futility of her stand.

She gritted her teeth in both enraged defiance and gritty determination, spitting the out the coppery tang of blood in disdain at the monstrosity in front of her.

The Railgun would make it work.

One.

Last.

Time.

Emaciated fingers twirled in a pattern that they had long memorized. The very air about her crackled and hummed with flaring bolts of lightning, coming to life in the dying city. Tired eyes flared with a forgotten passionate fire once more. Brown hair whipped about her face as an unseen gale from the north suddenly came to life, pouring the freshest air she had breathed in years into her lungs. Power flowed through her collapsed veins, regenerating the dying cells that lined her pulverized flesh with a last spurt of desperate energy. Electricity rippled through her body so forcefully it was as if it were fueled by the hopes and dreams and desires of all those who had fallen during the invasion, culminating in a single moment as so to bring together the Will of Humanity against Evil incarnate.

Her nerves screamed as the massive electromagnetic force gathered about her, summoned by the strength and courage of her will, layered upon itself, one after another, each pulverizing another part of her mind, threatening to overload it under the strain of the immense calculations necessary to control the exponentially increasing power. The muscles of her body cramped, tensing excruciatingly as the excess of electricity about her continually activated them, fiery flares of torment shooting through her body as if they were knives scraping against the inside of her own flesh.

Her strained, agonized voice ripped out in mighty, defiant scream of her own, colored by the vast expanse of her hatred and her despair, her frustration and her sorrow, her pain and her rapture, her suffering and her hopes, her last vestiges of her dreams and pride.

Her final hurrah.

The monstrosity hesitated in its march forwards, sensing the threat, and understanding its destructive power, its potential to destroy…

Even itself.

An angry screech resonated through the air, painfully rupturing her eardrums, and distantly, she saw the hazy, indefinite black form of the monstrosity turn tail and run, each lumbering step violently shaking the ground as if it were a small earthquake.

Her mouth flicked upwards in a feral grin.

Too late, motherfucker.

Her finger was already on the trigger.

A rusted old arcade coin, flaring with the brilliance of the sun, flew straight and true...

The world exploded into fire and flame, and she, Misaka Mikoto, finally closed her eyes.

* * *

"Ends are not bad things, they just mean that something else is about to begin. And there are many things that don't really end, anyway, they just begin again in a new way. Ends are not bad and many ends aren't really an ending; some things are never-ending."

-C. Joybell C.

* * *

 _Epilogue_

Light.

It hurt.

Too often a time had she been woken by the painfully bright light of the morning sun shining through her window back in the Tokiwadai dormitory, signaling another brutal academically-intense day of calculus, biochemistry, and esper studies.

A nostalgic smile found itself on her face.

Oh, what she would give to see that same opulent bedroom ceiling once more.

Maybe if she believed it hard enough, the entire experience was just a nightmarish dream, and once she awoke, she would rise to see Kuroko's perverted face, or maybe simply her beloved Gekota plushie, or perhaps Uiharu or Saten playfully catfighting one another on a bed next to her.

Or maybe even his face, quiet and peaceful.

Ah, but that was the child's view of the world, wasn't it?

She very knew well what had happened.

The light grew even stronger in intensity, and she had to restrain herself from groaning out loud.

Was she dead?

She slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the hazy image that presented itself in front of her, the image highlighted by the glaring light that was so bright and beautiful that it blinded all that dared look at it.

A single figure…

Standing…

Unbroken.

She blinked.

"I'm back," he smiled, amidst the rubble of the ruined city about him.

She didn't even try to hide the tears that streamed down her face as she ran into the strong, warm embrace of his arms - ignoring the pain and soreness that bit at every nerve in her body - and simply letting the wetness of her overpowering joy and relief soak onto his broad chest.

"I'm sorry I was late."

His cracked, yet comforting voice gently washed over her body as if it were a warm blanket, sending small shivers of delight scattering down the small of her back.

" _Mikoto_."

* * *

 **AN: This fic was actually somewhat rushed because I didn't hear of the competition until a few days before ended, and I had barely the time to write for the past week. So I apologize for its ruggedness, and perhaps the awkward shifts in internal monologues that occur several times throughout.**

 **Also, to me, at least, its painfully, heavy-handedly "try-hard inspiring," in which the author's attempt to convey an inspirational message is so overt it ends up making the reader wince at the cheesiness. Derp. Again, a product of rushed work.**

 **Please, do review, and constructively. I appreciate those more than I do Favs/Follows.**

 **That's all! Have a nice day :)**


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